Tulyet said Janetta was a witness to murder; she says she is not and has never spoken to him. It is black and white. They both cannot be right, so one of them is lying. Which? Is it Tulyet, who seems to be dragging his feet over the investigation, perhaps because of his family's involvement with the Guild of the Coming? Or is it Janetta, who holds sway over ruffians, and appears and disappears at will?'
'Or are they both lying?' asked Michael. 'Janetta saw the murder, but Tulyet never asked her. What about Froissart? You say you gave her no reason to assume that Froissart was dead? She has no idea he lies cold and stinking in St Mary's crypt?'
'Tulyet does not know of Froissart's death either.
Janetta says the townspeople believe that Froissart is the killer and that Tulyet lost him. Tulyet says that Froissart does not have the intelligence to carry out the murders.
Janetta says Froissart was violent.'
'They do not sound like the same man to me,' said Michael. 'Either Froissart was a clever and vicious killer or he did not have the intelligence to plan such things.
Which Froissart was the real one?' "I suppose it does not matter much,' said Bartholomew, leaning back with a yawn, 'since we know he is not in a position to do much about anything.'
Michael yawned too. "I cannot make any sense out of this tonight. The Chancellor is burying Froissart and the woman tomorrow. Let us see what their funerals might bring to light.'
They both started suddenly, aware that someone else had entered the room and was standing silently in the shadows.
'Boniface!' said Bartholomew, leaning back against the wall again. 'You made me jump!' "I am leaving, Master Bartholomew,' he said.
Bartholomew twisted around to look at him. 'Leaving?
But your disputation is in two days. I have already told you that if you can put heresy to the back of your mind for a couple of hours, you should pass.' "I do not want to become a physician,' said Boniface.
He stood stiffly in the doorway. 'And I do not want to be a friar.'
'Boniface!' said Michael kindly. Think about what you are saying. You have taken vows. At least talk to Father William first/ "I have,' said Boniface. 'He told me I should take some time to consider before I act.'
That is good advice,' said Bartholomew gently. 'But do not consider tonight. It is late. Come to see me tomorrow and we will talk when our minds are fresh.'
Boniface was silent.
'Frances de Belem!' he blurted out suddenly. 'She was coming to see me the day she died. We usually met before dawn under the willows by the fish-ponds.
I unbarred the gate and waited, but she did not come.
All the time she was dying in the orchard.'
Bartholomew remembered Alban claiming that Frances had a lover, and even her father had known she was meeting someone at dawn. Poor Boniface! A murdered lover was hardly something for which a young friar could claim sympathy from his fellows.
"I thought you might have killed her,' he said, swallowing and looking at Bartholomew.
"Me?' said Bartholomew, appalled. 'What on earth could have given you that idea?'
'Well, you are often out of the College at night, and I thought you must have seen her and killed her to keep your comings and goings secret,' said Boniface, 'especially if you were involved in all this business with witchcraft that Brother Alban was telling us about.'
'Brother Alban is a dangerous old gossip,' said Michael firmly. 'And Matt is not the only one to slip in and out of College at night. I do, I have seen Hesselwell and Aidan do so, and now you say you did.' "I know,' said Boniface, 'but I was distraught, and I had no one to tell. I did not know what to do. She told me she had something important to tell me, and I waited but she never came.'
Bartholomew could not meet his eyes. If Boniface was Frances's lover, then he must have been the father of her child. No wonder Frances had said that the father could not marry her. He decided nothing would be gained by telling Boniface that Frances was carrying his child when she died. The student was in enough turmoil already.
'She was almost hysterical,' Boniface reflected. "I asked her to tell me then, but she said she needed to tell me privately. Against my better judgement, I agreed to meet her in the orchard.'
'Did you not wait at the gate for her?' asked Michael.
Boniface shot him a bitter look. "I waited for her by the fish-ponds. I was afraid of being seen, and there are reeds and willows in which to hide around the ponds.'
Bartholomew could think of nothing to say. He tried to remember the times he had broken the rules to meet a woman in the night while a student in Oxford, but the memories were dim, and he could not recall his feelings.
Boniface hurried on.
'When I heard she had been dying while I hid among the reeds, I felt wretched. I took the arsenic from your bag, and put the sugar in its place because I was going to swallow it. Then you gave your lecture on dosages and I realised there was not enough to kill me. Here.'
He pushed a packet at Bartholomew.
"I never carry enough to kill in case anyone steals it, or it falls from my bag by accident,' said Bartholomew, staring at the small packet in his hands.
"I am glad you are cautious,' said Boniface with a faint smile. 'At least now I have not compounded one sin with another by committing suicide/ He stood to leave.
Bartholomew rummaged in his bag and handed him a twist of cloth. This is camomile,' he said. 'Mix it with some wine, and it will help you sleep. Tomorrow we can talk again.'
Boniface looked as if he would refuse, but then leaned forward and snatched it from him. He gave a sudden smile that lightened his sullen features and made him almost handsome. Michael sketched a benediction at him, and the friar disappeared. Bartholomew looked out of the window to make sure he returned to his own room. When he saw Boniface pour himself a drink and lie down on his bed through the open window opposite, he sat again.
"I wonder what she wanted to tell him,' said Michael.
'Nothing that is of import to us,' said Bartholomew.
'You know?' said the astute Michael immediately. 'She told you!' Bartholomew tried to change the subject, but Michael was tenacious. 'She carried his child!' he exclaimed, watching Bartholomew intently. They were lovers, and he made her pregnant! That is why you know and he does not. She must have asked you for a cure.'
'Michael…' began Bartholomew.
Michael raised his hands. 'No one will hear of this from me. I will say a mass for the child since no one else ever will, and there will be an end to it.' He paused. 'So that explains why she was in Michaelhouse. But not who killed her. Is it a scholar here, do you think?'
Bartholomew shook his head slowly. "It is possible,' he said, 'but if Frances could get into Michaelhouse, so could another. Tulyet, perhaps, since his night patrols mean that he is sometimes out at night. Or Nicholas dead, but seen alive at his own graveside. Or Buckley, who conveniently disappeared the night the friar died in the chest containing the controversial University history. Or perhaps even Boniface, to free himself from a romance that was destroying his peace of mind and threatening his vocation.'
Michael stretched. "It is beyond me,' he said. 'Like Boniface, I need to sleep, and we will talk again in the morning.'
10
The following morning, Bartholomew found that his students had managed to work their way through the first set of texts he had set the day before, but not the second. He instructed that they finish it that afternoon and attend Master Kenyngham's astronomy lectures in the morning. The students would be tested on their knowledge of astronomy, and hearing lectures would refresh their memories.
Boniface, looking more rested and relaxed than Bartholomew had ever seen him, approached Bartholomew shyly. He said he intended to spend the day praying in the church. Bartholomew gave him leave gladly, thinking uncharitably that his other students would be able to study better without him. Bartholomew decided to attendKenyngham'slectures too, partly to ensure none of his students played truant, and partly because he found Kenyngham's knowledge fascinating, and liked to hear the enthusiasm in his voice as he spoke.